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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467567">Blow Out the Candles of your Cake (They Will Not Leave You in the Dark)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug'>Glitter_Bug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Birthday, Car Sex, Child Abuse, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:40:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy’s first birthday in Hawkins is…interesting. </p><p>It’s pretty much a given by then that Neil will leave him a pack of cigarettes and a few dollars and that Susan will get him a way too cutesy card and Max will get him something small but meaningful- this year it’s a Metallica poster which he’s pretty sure she pulled off the wall of the record shop, but hey- she’s very small and has no money.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Billy's Birthday: Here I'm Singin' Happy Birthday (Better Think About the Wish I Make)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was actually a Tumblr post which inspired by some chat about Billy and how he’d deal with his birthday. Definitely inspired by a wonderful doodle by ihni (who was also very positive about my rambling about this! Thank you so much ❤️❤️)</p><p> <a href="https://ihni.tumblr.com/post/625811207980498945/happy-birthday-women-seem-wicked-from-blithesea">Here's the picture</a> It is amazing! </p><p>So yeah, this is not the most polished piece. Especially this first chapter. But I like to think it gets a bit more like a proper fic as it goes on. </p><p>Warnings for Neil Hargrove being Neil Hargrove. Nothing too explicit.<br/>Drug use, swearing, alcohol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he was little, Billy’s Mom made a real fuss on his birthday. They’d spend all day at the beach and she’d have packed a picnic with homemade cake. His absolute favourite memory was when she presented him with his first surf board, all brand new and just his size with a bright red ribbon tied around it. She’d stood at the edge of the water for hours watching him riding wave after wave. It was the best birthday ever.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>And even after she left, that first year, Billy still held out a little hope that she’d come back for his birthday. So when she wasn’t there in the morning he figured it was just because she didn’t want to come to the house, didn’t want to see Neil, so Billy bunked off from school and ran all the way to the beach by himself and waited there for her all day, because she had to come with their picnic.<br/>
<br/>
But she didn’t.<br/>
<br/>
So Billy figured that she’d be at the house, she always made him his favourite food for a birthday dinner so she was probably there right now cooking dinner and waiting to surprise him when he came home from school. So he ran home to find her.<br/>
<br/>
And instead he found Neil. Neil who’d had a phone call from the school wondering why Billy hadn’t been in all day.<br/>
<br/>
And boys who skip school don’t get to have birthdays, don’t get treats, they get sent to bed without any birthday supper, without their present and their cards.<br/>
<br/>
And after that, Billy stops caring about his birthday. Neil always buys him a few presents, he’s a dick but he’s still Billy’s dad after all. Buys him new clothes and things that he needs, hardly ever things that a growing boy would want, but that’s OK because Billy only wants one thing for his birthday and there’s no way Neil would ever be able to get it. To get her.<br/>
<br/>
Then Neil meets Susan and Max, and they meet Billy, and the first time Billy’s birthday rolls round, Susan tries to do something special for him. Feels sorry for him and cooks a OK (but not his favourite) meal, buys him some OK (but not his favourite) tapes and some OK (but not his size) shirts. And Billy says a sullen thank you and Neil slaps him for not being grateful enough and sends him to his room for the night without supper. And that night Max opens the door a crack and slips a handmade card and a candy bar over to him. He’s pretty grateful for that.<br/>
<br/>
And then they move, and Billy’s first birthday in Hawkins is…interesting. It’s pretty much a given by then that Neil will leave him a pack of cigarettes and a few dollars and that Susan will get him a way too cutesy card and Max will get him something small but meaningful- this year it’s a Metallica poster which he’s pretty sure she pulled off the wall of the record shop, but hey- she’s very small and has no money.<br/>
<br/>
But word also gets round the basketball team, and so that weekend when they all gather at someone’s house for a party, the team all sing Happy Birthday and make him do shots. There’s a whole parade of girls lining up to give him a birthday kiss (and quite a few heavily imply they’ve got another present for him, if he’ll just follow them upstairs). And then there’s Steve. Steve who stands away from the crowd because he’s in the team but he’s not *in* the team anymore. But he catches Billy’s eye and jerks his head at the door and so Billy follows him out- slipping away from the crowd and into the darkness of the garden.<br/>
<br/>
And they’ve done this before, been doing it for a few parties now. Finding their own corner, sharing their own little slice of the night away from everyone else. The first time, when the alcohol had Billy rolling in remorse and he slurred out an apology, an explanation, and discovered that Harrington has a forgiving streak a mile wide. A tentative gesture which built into the other times, shared cigarettes and bottles and sly glances that Billy had wondering, every time, what else he might still have to discover about Steve Harrington.<br/>
<br/>
But this time feels different. Might be the round of shots making their way through Billy’s body, might be the way Steve’s looking at him so intently with those big brown eyes, might be the way Steve leans in and whispers ‘a little birdie tells me it’s your birthday’ and presses his lips to Billy’s ear so softly and so fleetingly that Billy’s almost certainly he imagined it. And then Steve’s moved away, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a little bag of the <em>damn good </em>weed he has to go at least three towns over to get. A little bag that he dangles in Billy’s face. A little bag that he’s tied with a bright red bow. There’s a sly, knowing look from Steve as he wiggles the bag and asks, “You want your present?” <br/>
<br/>
And so they smoke and get high and fill Steve’s car with low music and loud giggles and the kind of inane chatter that Billy has been missing, the kind that reminds him of Cali and bonfires on the beach and boys with soft skin and chapped lips and hands that grasped in all the right places. And then there’s a lull. In the song and in their conversation. A lull that has Steve leaning over again, one hand reaching up to touch Billy’s cheek so gently, fingers padding against his skin. Those fingers explore, threading into blonde curls and caressing, cupping the back of Billy’s head and sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Steve’s other hand is on Billy’s hip, fingers splayed and radiating a heat Billy can feel searing through his shirt. And Billy waits, hesitant, and Steve moves in, his breath ghosting over Billy’s lips as he murmurs ‘happy birthday Bill’.<br/>
<br/>
A bang outside interrupts them. A shout as a crowd spills from the door. The lights of police lights flooding the street. Billy freezes and Steve pulls back, each part of him leaving Billy’s space until there’s just the warmth of his fingers still burning onto Billy’s skin. <br/>
<br/>
“Best get out of here, huh? I know somewhere a bit more private.” he grins, speeding away from the house and all Billy has to do is hold on for now. Houses rush by, the distances between them increasing until they’re replaced by forest and rock, Steve taking them both away from Hawkins, towards a place where they can share a joint, share secrets, share another moment together without interruption.<br/>
<br/>
And Billy thinks that this might be the first birthday, the first for the longest time, when he actually has something to <em>want</em>. Something that he may be with a chance of getting.<em><br/>
</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Steve's Birthday:  Just One More Candle and a Trip Around the Sun.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve’s birthday rolls round. </p><p>He’s all excited. His parents are coming back and staying for the whole week. He’s practically vibrating with happiness when he first tells Billy about it, a bright smile on his face as they chat together outside the arcade, both turning up twenty minutes earlier than they told the kids.<br/>He’s still just as happy when he tells Billy about it for the fifth time, and Billy’s happy for him, he really is, but there’s an uncomfortable twist of envy in Billy’s gut, a feeling that he knows from experience will grow and mutate into something more vicious; an anger, an urge to destroy, so he tunes Steve out a little, gives himself a moment to try and temper it down.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I KNOW that Billy needs some birthday love, and we all want to see our boy getting spoiled and pampered and utterly smothered with love. And that is coming- I promise.</p><p>But I kinda figured that Steve’s birthday would have to roll around first. So instead you can have some cutesy boys and a little Steve angst and my first ever dip into a little bit of smut (and I know it’s not great, so I’m totally up for criticism.</p><p>There's the usual mention of some Neil Hargrove aftermath, but very brief and nothing graphic.<br/>Swearing.<br/>Smut/lemony.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all changes from there, from that night.</p><p>They start skipping the parties. Jump straight into the two of them in the car. Billy driving fast into the night, following Steve’s directions to a different place each time. Always somewhere quiet, secluded, unseen. And they share beer, a few joints, swap stories about shitty childhoods and friends who aren’t really friends, about anything and everything and all the bits in between.</p><p>And they make out. A lot. Mouths crashing together and tongues exploring and fingers carding through hair. Hands cupping faces and making their way under shirts and then down over denim-covered thighs. And it’s hot. It’s heavy. It leaves them both panting and squirming in tight jeans that suddenly feel painfully restrictive. And they don’t go any further, both toeing some invisible line, both pulling away when it gets to be too much. Both somehow knowing that <em>this</em> is ok, but <em>that</em> would be too far.</p><p>And sometimes they just sit, sit and hold hands and stare out at the night, turn the radio down low and listen to the rumble of late-night DJs and <em>Golden Oldies</em> from the 50s, Billy curling his lip up in such a terrible Elvis impression that Steve almost busts a gut laughing. Sometimes Billy will be quiet on the drive, will be holding himself tense and away from Steve, will have bruises or blood or red eyes, and Steve will direct them somewhere with water, somewhere where they can sit overlooking a lake and Billy will start to unclench, will press himself deliberately against Steve, all down one side, and Steve will start to trace patterns on Billy’s bare arm, will tangle his fingers in the braided leather bracelet that Billy has started to wear, will knock his foot against Billy’s and hook their legs together.</p><p>And Billy keeps waiting, always on edge and ready for the other shoe to drop. For Steve to flinch when Billy reaches over and puts a hand on his cheek. For Steve to lean his body away when Billy starts to press against him. For Steve to drive them out somewhere with a view, and gently, <em>kindly</em>, explain that he’s done with experimenting, that he had fun and he really <em>liked</em> Billy but now he’s gotta fine a nice girl- gotta be with someone he can hold hands with in public and bring home to the parents and actually fall in love with. And Billy’s ready for it. Readies himself for it every time Steve’s a little quieter on their drives, every time Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Every time he thinks Steve might just be realising all that he’s missing out on.  </p><p>But it doesn’t happen. Nothing drops. Billy starts to breath. Starts to relax. Starts to hope.</p><p> </p><p>A few more months pass. Steve takes Billy to the cinema. Presses their legs together as soon as they sit down. Leans himself over to share Billy’s armrest. Takes hold of his hand as soon as the lights go down.</p><p>They go to the diner in the middle of the day. Sit across from each other. Steve presses his foot against Billy’s under the table, doesn’t take it away when the waitress comes for their order. They take turns sipping from each other’s shakes. They split a dessert and Steve pays for the whole thing.</p><p>Steve invites him back to his house one evening. Cooks a dinner. Lights a couple of candles on the tables and uses some fancy china. Billy helps him wash up afterwards and they sit together on the sofa, Steve’s head resting in Billy’s lap with Billy’s fingers trailing through his hair as a movie unfolds on TV and neither of them pay much attention to it.</p><p>And then Steve’s birthday rolls round. He’s all excited. His parents are coming back and staying for the whole week. He’s practically vibrating with happiness when he first tells Billy about it, a bright smile on his face as they chat together outside the arcade, both turning up twenty minutes earlier than they told the kids.<br/>He’s still just as happy when he tells Billy about it for the fifth time, and Billy’s happy for him, he really is, but there’s an uncomfortable twist of envy in Billy’s gut, a feeling that he knows from experience will grow and mutate into something more vicious; an anger, an urge to destroy, so he tunes Steve out, gives himself a moment to try and temper it down.</p><p>“You like Italian, right?” Steve asks him suddenly, “I just kinda assumed everyone did. And they do the best pizza so sometimes I just have-“</p><p>“Huh?” Billy vaguely remembers Steve talking about dinner with his parents, about some restaurant they <em>always</em> go to for his birthday.</p><p>“The restaurant. It’s Italian.” Steve is looking at him expectantly.</p><p>“Why the fuck does it matter what I like?” Billy snaps, hating Steve at that moment. Hating him for getting a picture-perfect family celebration. Hating this smug rich brat rubbing all his privilege and happiness and happy family tradition in Billy’s face.</p><p>Steve’s face falls. The excitement, the childlike giddiness disappearing in a moment.</p><p>“You don’t want to come?” his voice is quiet. Small. Empty. Entirely lacking in emotion.</p><p>Billy blinks. His hatred migrates as soon as Billy sees Steve’s eyes, sees the pain there, sees the way he’s trying so hard not to let it show. Billy hates himself for putting it there.</p><p>“I didn’t know I was invited.” Billy’s voice is just as small as Steve’s was. He’s probably <em>not</em> invited now. Not after this.<br/>“I literally just said…I knew you weren’t listening!” And Billy’s heard those words before, knows exactly what normally comes next, but Steve’s not upset, he’s a little exasperated but he’s smiling- all joy and sunshine again, “Yes you’re invited, idiot! I want you there.”</p><p>“And your parents?”</p><p>“Yeah, they can’t wait to meet you!”</p><p>“They know about us?”</p><p>“Well not exactly. Not everything. Not what we…are. My dad wouldn’t…no. My mom maybe? But I talk about you Bill. They know you’re my friend. They know you’re important to me.”</p><p>Something inside Billy warms at that.</p><p>And hey, even if it’s a hideous night- at least Billy’s getting some free food out of it.</p><p>“Italian’s fine, Steve.”</p><p>The meal starts out well.</p><p>It’s a nice place, quaint, rustic. Nowhere near as fancy as Billy expected. It’s still a damn sight classier than anywhere he’s ever been, but he recognises most of the dishes on the menu and there’s not a crazy amount of cutlery to contend with. The waiter knows the Harringtons well, calls Steve <em>Stefano</em> and asks about school.</p><p>Steve and his mom order in Italian. Billy tries. It’s stilted and awful and he points to the menu at the same time, but Mrs. Harrington gives him a glowing smile and Steve squeezes his thigh, leans over and whispers “Fuck that was hot.”  <br/>Billy gets on well enough with Mr and Mrs Harrington ‘<em>Robert and Elena, please’. </em>He dressed in his smartest shirt and dress pants, took off most of his jewellery except for his necklace and the leather band around his wrist. He looks respectable.H<em>e</em> knows how to make polite small talk. Steve’s dad asks Billy about school, about basketball, about his family, and then talks his ear off about the best golf courses in California. Steve’s mom is quieter, but reaches over to pat his hand and thank him for being such a good friend, for looking out for Steve.</p><p>It’s nice.</p><p>Entirely alien to Billy, but nice. He gets why Steve was looking forward to it.</p><p>They’re just finishing up dessert- a huge cake bought out by a chef who pinched Steve’s cheeks and commented on how much he’d grown- when Steve’s dad stands up. He nods his head at Steve’s mom who smiles and reaches into her handbag. Passes over a neatly wrapped black box tied with a gold ribbon, which Steve’s dad holds in front of him.</p><p>“You’re becoming a man now Stephen. And a man needs to have some authority about him if he wants to get on in this world. Your mother and I hope this will encourage you to start thinking a bit more seriously about your image, about your choices.”</p><p>He hands the present over to Steve who opens it carefully. There’s a box inside, stamped with a brand that even Billy knows is exclusive. One of those places where nothing has a price tag. If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.</p><p>It’s a watch. Big, imposing, designed to scream out wealth and status to everyone who sees it. It’s so utterly not Steve.</p><p>Robert is still standing, “I’m afraid we have to cut the visit short,” he announces, signals overly at the waiter with a click of his fingers.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Steve’s voice is small. Younger. He directs the question at his mother.</p><p>“Your father has another meeting tomorrow morning, we have to go back tonight. I’m so sorry sweetheart. We couldn’t reschedule.” Elena reaches over, gently strokes Steve’s hand.</p><p>“Do you both have to go?” It’s a whispered plea. Billy is sitting right next to Steve and he can barely hear him. He presses his knee against Steve’s as firmly as he can, the only thing he can think to do.  Billy doesn’t listen to Elena’s reply. Doesn’t listen to Robert’s barked out laugh as he jokes around with the waiter. He just keeps that contact with Steve, lets him know that he’s staying put, he’s there as long as Steve will have him.</p><p>They’re on the way out of the restaurant when Billy turns to him,</p><p>“Up for a drive?” he asks. He doesn’t usually ask, usually just turns up at Steve’s and finds him ready, waiting.</p><p>But tonight is different.</p><p>Steve nods. Says his goodbyes to his parents. Kisses his mom and thanks his dad for the watch which he still hasn’t put on. Tells them he’ll get a ride home with Billy.</p><p>Billy walks him to the Camaro. Opens the passenger door for him.</p><p>They sit in silence for a few moments. Steve turning the watch box over and over in his hand. His jaw is twitching, hands trembling slightly. Billy reaches out to cover them, to still the movements. Lets the box drop onto the floor.</p><p>“I got you a present,” he says, voice a little rough, “Just gotta…” he leans past Steve, brushes his thigh as he pops open the glovebox and grabs a small, newspaper wrapped box. “It’s not much, but it’s uh…just open it.”</p><p>Steve does. Finds a mixtape, ‘<em>Harrington’s Truly Atrocious Taste’ </em>written on the  carboard cover- the letters a bit squished and Billy’s drawn a not-entirely-flattering picture of Steve surrounded by music notes underneath them. Steve turns it over. Instead of a tracklist, Billy’s just written ‘<em>Awful preppy bullshit’ </em>over and over again. There’s a cartoon skull and crossbones with big hair in the corner.</p><p>Steve laughs. It’s a bit watery but it’s real and it makes Billy’s heart glow. “Thanks Bill,”</p><p>“Go on then, pop it in. But this is a one-time deal Harrington. Enjoy it while it lasts. We’re back to actual music in this carriage as soon as the clock hits twelve”</p><p>“If I’m Cinderella then does that makes you my Prince Charming?” Steve wasn’t looking at him, his fingers running over the edge of the cassette box.</p><p>“Cinderella?” Billy poked at Steve’s shoulder, “Kinda figured you were the Ugly Sister.”</p><p>“Well then you’re a pumpkin,” Steve turns to Billy, a small smile growing.</p><p>“Vicious burn there, pretty boy, I’m wounded. Truly.”</p><p>“Thought I was ugly?” Steve’s smile is reaching his eyes now.</p><p>“You want the music or not?” Billy reaches out his hand for the tape, Steve hands it over and he pushes it in and immediately the sound of Duran Duran fills the car.</p><p>Billy winces, but his fingers still tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel.</p><p>Billy pulls over in one of their favourite spots. One where the moonlight reflects off the lake. One which isn’t surrounded by the woods. One where Billy’s spent some of his happiest nights. He turns off the engine but keeps the stereo going. Phil Collins singing about whatever the fuck <em>Sussudio</em> is.</p><p>He pushes the eject button.</p><p>“Hey!” Steve grumbles, slapping at Billy’s hand, “It’s not midnight yet jackass, lemme listen.”</p><p>“Trust me,” Billy flips the tape over, inserts it, winds it back to the start and presses play.</p><p>It’s Phil again. <em>One More Night</em> starts to fill the car. It’s softer, some real sappy prom night shit. Billy thinks about Steve in a suit. Thinks about them both swaying together under some twinkling lights. Bites down hard on his lip.</p><p>“Steve,” he starts.</p><p>Steve moves in towards him. Their lips meet. It’s soft at first, a brush of lips, Steve’s fingers gentle against Billy’s cheek, brushing his stubble. Billy moans softly with the sweetness of it- the kiss and the touches and the music playing so quietly- and then it’s like Steve can’t contain himself. He surges, his tongue pressing into Billy’s mouth. His fingers coming up to grip into Billy’s hair. Billy is pushing back just as passionately, his hands stroking under Steve’s shirt, pulling it out from where it’s tucked into his trousers. Steve sits back just for a minute, gives Billy enough room to unbutton his shirt and then Billy’s hands are roaming again, feeling the soft muscle of Steve’s stomach, the slight dip of his waist. Steve moans, an echo of Billy’s, and begins to curl his fingers around Billy’s thighs, reaching up and for his belt. He’s panting into Billy’s mouth, breath mixing.</p><p>Billy pulls back, panting just as hard, and he gently takes Steve’s hand away from his belt, interlacing their fingers. Then he lets go. Runs his hand through his hair instead and tries again. Gets his hand halfway to Steve’s and then stops. He can feel his heart in his mouth. Knows what he wants to do, what he wants to say. Knows it could ruin everything. Knows it will change everything.  His guts twist with nerves.</p><p>“Billy?” Steve is looking at him, eyes bright, brown and slightly narrowed in confusion. </p><p>“Let’s get in the back,” Billy says it in a rush, gets it out before he can overthink it again. He opens his door before Steve has answered, moves the seat and slides into the back, arranging a couple of cushions. Then he slides back. Steps out. Steve hasn’t moved.</p><p>“Billy?” Steve ask again,</p><p>“Just..." Billy breathes, "I wanna try something. If you- if it’s- I really want to try something. Please.”</p><p>And that’s all it takes. Steve scrambles over his seat, long legs catching on <em>everything</em> as he folds himself into the back. Billy arranges him, gets him lying down with his head resting against the cushions. Billy leans over him, there’s hardly any room, and Billy’s bending at an awkward angle, and he can feel a twinge in his hip if he moves a certain way, but then they’re lying down and kissing and the cramped space doesn’t matter because Billy can feel just how hard Steve is against him, can hear the breathy moans that Steve tries to stifle every time Billy leans down to kiss him.</p><p>Billy moves his hands to Steve’s belt. Pauses. Looks up at Steve who bites his lip and nods so energetically that Billy has to smile.</p><p>Billy wastes no more time. Unbuckles Steve’s belt and pulls down his trousers and underwear in one go. Then he stops. Steve lets out an absolutely pitiful whine,</p><p>“Shhh baby, just gotta, gotta make it good.” Billy spits into his hand, licks his palm and spits again. Then he reaches back down, closes his hand around Steve’s cock and starts to move it up and down, a slow rhythm that has Steve writhing under him, his knee rubbing up against Billy’s crotch. Billy lets out his own moan at that contact, pushes himself closer and rubs against Steve.</p><p>“Billy, baby, Billy,” Steve’s gasping, hands reaching up for any part of Billy they can find. He grabs at a shoulder, pulls Billy down even closer, presses their lips together again. Billy quickens his strokes, adds a little twist that has Steve’s eyes rolling back in his head, makes him moan out and then press his mouth against Billy’s arm to try and lessen the sound. Billy slows again, moves his hand over the tip of Steve’s dick, gently spreads his fingers through the wetness he finds there, spreading it all over as he resumes his strokes. Then he repeats it. Slowly. A teasing smile crossing his face, and Steve absolutely howls- hips bucking up and fingers grabbing at Billy again.</p><p>“Don’t stop, don’t, baby, baby, please…” he’s babbling, words becoming almost nonsensical as Billy resumes the faster strokes, keeping it simple, watching Steve’s face as he closes his eyes and lets his head drop back. It just takes a few more strokes, just Billy whispering</p><p>“That’s it sweetheart,”</p><p>and Steve’s gasping, shooting hot into Billy’s hand, spilling over his uncovered stomach. Billy leans down quickly, laps at the mess, licks his hand, and then sits up.</p><p>There’s nothing but panting for a few moments. Heavy breaths which fill the car. And then,</p><p>“Holy shit Billy,”</p><p>Steve is sitting up as much as he can manage in the cramped spaced, dazed eyes locking onto Billy’s face. And Billy is ready for it. Ready to hear that he’s crossed that line, that he went too far, turned it too real.</p><p>“That was so good,” his smile is blissful, his face lit in pleasure. He strokes a hand down Billy’s side, splays his fingers onto Billy’s thigh, “Can I?”</p><p>Billy presses his lips together, shakes his head.</p><p>“Already taken care of.”</p><p>And it was. The friction against Steve’s leg, combined with those last moans of Steve’s, had been enough. Even if he’d known that Steve would be willing, would <em>want</em> to do more, then he doubts he’d have had the control to hold back anyway.</p><p>Steve keeps smiling anyway, moves his hand to Billy’s arm and strokes his fingers up and down it idly, playing with the bracelet. He rubs the braided leather between his fingers, flicks his nails on the little silver bar.</p><p>“Maybe next time?” Steve flicks his tongue between his teeth, copies Billy’s signature move. It looks even hotter on him.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, we could try somewhere less cramped,” Steve’s voice is husky, Billy wonders how many moans he’d been stifling, wonders how many more he can coax out if, when, they do this again.</p><p>“Sounds like you have a plan there sweetheart,” the name slips out from Billy’s lips, and he bites down hard, face flushing. But Steve just smiles even wider, leans up to press his lips against Billy’s once more, pulls Billy down onto him.</p><p>“I’ve got an empty house?” Steve is all charm, all bedroom eyes and low voice, but the fingers around Billy’s wrist are twitching nervously with his bracelet, and Billy can feel how fast his heart is pounding.</p><p>“Well you are the birthday boy for another half hour,” Billy grins, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead, “Wanna make a wish?”</p><p>“I wish you’d come back with me. Stay tonight.”</p><p>He can’t stay the night, they both know it. Know it’s not worth the risk. But they can have a few hours. A few hours in Steve’s bed, with no chance of being interrupted. No chance of anyone hearing. Plenty of space to move and hold and explore. Billy can do a lot with that.</p><p>And Billy can stay until Steve is asleep beside him, can hold him close and whisper sweet words into his hair and let himself have everything he wants. Imagine that they’re in <em>their </em>room, in <em>their </em>house. And he can come over early, can grab Steve and go to the diner and share milkshakes and desserts and spend the day together. Can do it again and again.</p><p>And that’s enough. More than enough for now. It’s so much more than Billy thought he would get.</p><p>So Billy cleans them both up, groans as he gets back out of the car and stretches out the crick in his neck. Slips back into the driver’s seat, with Steve back beside him. The radio is still on, <em>If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me. </em>Billy starts the engine, turns on the lights. He doesn’t pull off straight away. Has an idea.</p><p>He turns to Steve, finds him already looking, already smiling. Billy knows his own expression is the same. He unclasps his bracelet, then reaches over to take Steve’s wrist and wraps the leather band around it. Gives it a squeeze. Laces their fingers together.</p><p>“Happy Birthday Stevie.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Steve's Birthday (Still): I'm Just Hangin' On While This Old World Keeps Spinning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve's birthday continues.</p>
<p>'He has his hand resting on the thigh of a gorgeous boy, a boy who keeps on turning and smiling at Billy so brightly, a boy whose eyes reflect the same joy that Billy can feel filling him up inside, a boy with Billy’s leather cuff wrapped around his wrist, a boy that Billy can still taste on his lips.<br/>A boy who invited Billy back for the night, who wished for him to stay.<br/>And Billy doesn’t want to break that spell.'</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning here for some of Neil Hargrove's finest parenting skills.<br/>We're talking physical abuse and the use of a homophobic slur.</p>
<p>I think that's it for the additionals, but let me know in the comments if there's anything I've missed. </p>
<p>Oh yeah, this one kinda...it got away from me. Bit of a shift in style and tone from the first few chapters, but I let it run so lemme know what you think.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy takes the scenic route back to Steve's. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that there's much scenery in Hawkins this time of night, nothing but miles and miles of emptiness, broken only by corn and trees and smatterings of outbuildings. But Billy isn’t actually noticing any of that. Instead, his gaze keeps sliding over to the passenger seat, and the view he has there is one he wouldn't trade for the most picturesque landscape in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he knows he should be speeding; he's got the promise of Steve and an empty house burning in his mind and he probably should be breaking the sound barrier, the fucking laws of physics, let alone the pathetic Hawkins speed limits, to take advantage of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’s happy right now, so damn happy that he's sure he must be dreaming, and he feels so much lighter than he ever has before, glad of the seat belt strapping him in because he’s certain he’d be floating away without it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he has his hand resting on the thigh of a gorgeous boy, a boy who keeps on turning and smiling at Billy so brightly, a boy whose eyes reflect the same joy that Billy can feel filling him up inside, a boy with Billy’s leather cuff wrapped around his wrist, a boy that Billy can still taste on his lips. A boy who invited Billy back for the night, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>wished</span>
  </em>
  <span> for him to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy doesn’t want to break that spell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Can't face stepping out of the car, out of this bubble they have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not before he absolutely has to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he takes his time. And if Steve notices the convoluted route he takes, the way they’re driving along the same few roads, taking the same wrong turns each time, then he doesn't mention it. He just keeps smiling as he squeezes Billy’s fingers, quietly singing along with the radio,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hold me now, whoa</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Warm my heart</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay with me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let loving start</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But as much as he wants to, they can’t keep driving forever, and the roads eventually become better lit, the barns replaced by small houses which are, in turn, replaced by larger houses which get larger and larger the closer they get to Loch Nora.</span>
  <span> Steve’s house is dark when they pull up, not even a porchlight left on as a welcome, and his red Beemer stands alone on the drive. Billy can see how Steve slumps a little when he notices, how that bright smile dims for a moment, and he realises with a sudden jolt of surprise that, as much as he’s glad of the empty house and the opportunities it offers, he’d happily give it up for Steve to get the family celebration he’d been looking forward to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy lets go of Steve’s hand just long enough for them both to get out of the car, and then Steve’s linking their fingers again as he pulls Billy up the porch steps and through the front door. Part of Billy is expecting him to turn around there, ready for Steve to change his mind about the invitation and to see Billy off with a goodnight kiss on the doorstep. He wouldn’t even be upset, he could still come back in the morning, they could still do breakfast together and lunch together and spend the day together like they planned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy wouldn’t mind. He gets it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>Steve doesn’t do that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he also doesn’t drag Billy up the stairs and pull him into the bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead he takes Billy through into the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, sitting on the table, is the only evidence that Robert and Elena have even been back to the house at all- a neatly wrapped package which Steve ignores, and a neatly folded note which Steve reads with a smile before flicking it back onto the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They're coming back in a few days," he explains, “well, my mom is. That’s better than...better than I thought,” his eyes are soft as he looks back at Billy, “And she says it was nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy swings himself onto one of the stools next to the table, scuffing his toes against the footrest as Steve picks up the package, unwrapping it quickly. Billy notes the gift tag, labelled with the same elegant handwriting as the note. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, nice!” Steve grins, holding out the box of a Walkman, the latest model- smaller and with all kinds of fancy features that Billy is certain Steve won't actually learn how to use. </span>
  <span>"I told her my other one kept breaking, I can’t believe she remembered!” Steve’s smile is huge as he turns to Billy, “Now I can keep listening to the tape you made.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, dunno, I might keep it in the car,” Billy purses his lips as if in thought, “Get a taste for Billy Joel and Tears For fucking Fears. Think you’ll still like me if I start wearing khakis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve snorts out a laugh, “Depends how tight they are.” He bites his lip, shifting closer and Billy can’t resist pushing that bit further, opening his knees to allow Steve to slot in between them, “How about if I borrow one of your preppy little polos? Could wear it with the collar up and everything,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve traces his fingers softly along Billy's neck, humming in approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess I could take you to the country club then," Steve leans forward to whisper in Billy's ear, "Show you off, risk you getting snatched up by some rich widow looking for her fourth husband.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy leans up to catch Steve's lips with his. </span>
  <span>“Not getting rid of me that easily, Stevie,” he whispers, leaning up to press their smiles together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kiss is sweet, soft. The gentlest meeting of lips and an almost chaste brushing of tongues. Steve's hands cup Billy's face, and Billy's hands rest on Steve's wrists, one finger tracing over the leather wristband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy pulls back to take a breath and Steve stays standing between Billy's legs, his hands resting on Billy's thighs for a few moments, before stepping back and offering Billy a beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy watches him as he walks to the fridge, eyes locked on Steve’s ass as he bends down to reach into the back of the fridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>"Oh hey, they left the cake!" Steve backs up and nudges the fridge door closed with his hip, hands full with a white cardboard box, beer clearly forgotten as soon as he spied the dessert. He places it on the table, right next to Billy, “You want some? It’s, uh, the cream’s fresh. It won’t keep long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Billy shrugs, and he’s pretty certain now that Steve’s trying to stall, trying to put things off, and Billy’s determined not to push, not to even hint at wanting any more than Steve’s willing to give. Because Steve’s already given him enough, Billy will still go home happier than he ever thought he could be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve scrambles in the drawer for a couple of forks, popping open the cake box eagerly and digging right in to spear a little piece, a perfect chunk of cake and cream and chocolate curls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves back in between Billy's thighs, lifting the laden fork to Billy's mouth and wiggling it gently in invitation as Billy leans forward, wrapping his lips around the silver prongs and slipping the cake into his mouth. Steve gently pulls the fork away, focused entirely on the way Billy's lips are pursed around it, a gasp escaping from his mouth as Billy's tongue darts out to catch the final few crumbs left on the silverware, and Billy feels his heart jolt at the hungry look in Steve's eyes, a glimmer of hope building as he thinks that maybe Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> want more. Because somehow, this feels more intimate than what they did in the car; here under the low lights of the Harrington kitchen, he can feel that lightness bubbling from his chest, growing around them all over again as Steve offers Billy more tiny bites which he takes delicately, eyes locking with Steve’s as soon as the cake touches his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Steve lifts out a bigger piece, much less dainty than his previous offerings. Billy opens his mouth expectantly, but Steve’s grin is mischievous, and he pulls the fork back at the last moment, steering it towards his own mouth and leaving Billy gaping like a fish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve sticks out his tongue and Billy bites down the urge to lean forward and meet it with his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he rolls his eyes and calls Steve an asshole, before jamming his own fork into the box and shoving an even bigger lump of cake into his mouth a little too enthusiastically, cream splattering everywhere, spilling out over his face and falling in white flecks on his shirtsleeves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looks at the mess with a gleam in his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe you should...you should take that off,” he gestures at Billy’s shirt with his fork, “don’t wanna get it any messier,” his gaze tracks further down and he points at Billy's pants, “And maybe those too, be a shame to ruin them. Dry clean only’s a bitch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy cocks an eyebrow, "You telling me not to cream my pants, Harrington?" and Steve laughs, one of those beautiful, dorky half-gasping laughs that makes Billy feel as though he's won a prize.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can't believe you,” Steve grins, “And you’ve still got some-” he taps his nose and Billy rubs at his face, smearing the cream even more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stve shakes his head, “Lemme just…” he reaches out a finger tip to swipe at Billy’s nose, licking the dab of cream from his finger with a swirl of his tongue and Billy can't take his eyes off the motion,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...you get it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not all of it,” Steve leans in closer, darting forward and pressing a kiss to the tip of Billy’s nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t even hesitate, thankful for his quick reflexes developed out of necessity and then honed by sport, and Steve has barely retreated an inch before Billy’s standing up to grab him back, pressing their mouths together, licking the dots of cream from Steve’s lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s nothing like their earlier kiss; this one is hungry, heated and Steve is kissing back just as furiously, his hands reaching into Billy’s hair, their bodies pressed so close that Billy can feel Steve’s dick pressing against his, a hardness matching his own, and he reaches down, hands skimming over Steve’s hips, moving lower. Steve breaks the kiss with a gasp, his fingers reaching for the buttons of Billy’s shirt, “I...I meant it, about the shirt. If you-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s nodding before the sentence is finished, Steve's fingers are flying over the buttons almost immediately. Their lips meet again, and Steve just about manages to wriggle himself out of his own shirt without breaking the contact, while Billy makes short work of freeing himself from his sleeves, throwing the shirt down on the floor and pulling Steve's bare chest flush against his, gasping at the heat of Steve's skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, Bill, you’re...you’re so...,” he breathes out, gaze tracking up to look Billy in the eyes, “ you’re beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says it with such reverence that Billy is struck, lost for words for the few seconds that Steve’s lips are away from his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kiss again, Billy losing himself entirely in the feel of Steve against him, of Steve’s tongue in his mouth, of Steve’s back under his palms, of Steve’s chest pressed against his, their hearts beating together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They break apart, and Billy knows it must have been Steve who stepped back, because Billy can’t ever imagine tearing himself away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve brushes his nose against Billy’s, pressing their foreheads together, “Bedroom?” he asks, and Billy bites down on a whine, the noise turning Steve's look of adoration into one of lust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"C'mon, baby," Steve purrs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>And Billy glances at the clock, the hands ticking further away from midnight and closer to danger. But how can Billy refuse, how the hell can he turn Steve down when he’s looking like that, staring up with those big eyes and a little dab of cream still stubbornly clinging to the side of his mouth?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bedroom," Billy agrees with a quick jerk of his head, and Steve's hand has already reached back to grab his, pulling him towards the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They barely make it to the bedroom, and when he's come down from his dizzying high, Billy thinks he might laugh at the cliche they've fulfilled, a trail of clothing leading from the kitchen to the landing, socks and underwear left like breadcrumbs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a moment, just after they've kissed in the doorway, just as Steve pushes Billy onto the bed, straddling him and gazing down with such devotion, that Billy almost convinces himself that Steve does actually want this. That he wants Billy. That maybe Steve might, someday, love him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe not with the same intensity, the same wholeness of his soul like Billy loves Steve, but it could be something close, something that comes near. And Billy can feel his heart pounding with hope, because that’s so much more than he ever thought he'd get.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then Steve's mouth is brushing Billy's chest, his lips grazing over Billy’s nipple, pressing kisses to every inch of skin, whispering words of praise as Billy shivers beneath him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so perfect, Billy. So good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy's floating again. Thinks he might touch the ceiling with the way Steve's hands are stroking over his stomach, moving lower and lower until they're on his thighs, until Steve’s hands are pushing Billy’s legs apart slowly, until Steve’s hand is wrapping around him, fingers curling around his dick and Billy-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy is soaring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make good use of the bed. In every way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy blinks himself awake to find Steve asleep in his arms, his back pressed flush to Billy’s bare chest, and Billy allows himself a moment, just one, to take it in. To relish having everything he’s ever wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he lets the panic set in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Steve?" Billy almost can't bear to wake him, but he doesn't want to just skip out like Steve's some one night stand. He gives Steve's shoulder a little nudge</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mmm?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy forces the words out, hating each one, "I gotta go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve grunts in disagreement, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Billy, drawing him closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy tries again, tries and fails to keep the desperation out of his tone, “I’ve gotta, I don’t want to but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve gets it. His grip loosens and it takes everything Billy has to move away, to leave the comfort of Steve’s bed and Steve’s arms and, well, Steve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strokes the hair away from Steve’s face, pressing a kiss to his forehead, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll come back, tomorrow morning, OK? As soon as I can." He takes a moment, swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, "And we can pretend I never left."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise?” Steve murmurs, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy wants to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to, but he knows his time isn’t his own, not really, and he knows he’s gonna be in such trouble when he gets home that there’s a chance he’s not going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>able</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come back tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy’s not going to promise something to Steve if there’s even the slightest chance he might not be able to keep it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans down to press another kiss to Steve’s lips,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As soon as I can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Billy grabs his clothes from where they’ve been scattered all around Steve’s house, pants and underwear on the bedroom floor, not exactly clean and fresh but nothing Billy hasn’t dealt with before, a belt and some socks on the stairs. He collects Steve’s too, folding them into a neat pile which he leaves outside the bedroom door. He retrieves his shirt from where it’s tangled with Steve’s on the kitchen floor, stopping to clear up the smears of cream and cake crumbs left over from earlier and to place the leftover cake back in the fridge. He washes the forks, taking the time to clean in between each prong carefully, and sets them to dry. He picks up the wrapping paper Steve had thrown onto the table, smoothing it all out and pressing it down into a neat square which slips easily into the trash. Despite his attention to detail, it still only takes minutes, and Billy looks around, almost desperately, for anything else, one more task to keep him here a little longer, a reason to stay in the warmth and safety of the Harrington's kitchen, but there’s no delaying it any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The spell starts to break the moment that Billy steps down from the Harrington porch, the air of safety, of happiness; the blissful, dreamlike state he’d been enjoying evaporating as soon as Billy starts the engine and peels out of the driveway. The radio starts automatically, Steve’s tape filling the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The times are tough now, just getting tougher</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This whole world is rough, it's just getting rougher</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Cover me, come on baby, cover me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy definitely doesn't take the scenic route home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's way past curfew now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worth whatever Neil's gonna dish out for Billy to be able to say that he spent all of Steve’s birthday with him. That he gave him what he needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy just hopes he can get back to Steve's tomorrow, even if he has to be late. It’s likely, Billy thinks, because Neil doesn’t often ground him, doesn’t want Billy hanging around the house any more than he has to. Instead, Neil likes to give him some freedom, let out the leash enough that he can have the pleasure of yanking it back. He prefers to give Billy an ever-changing curfew instead, a way of keeping him on his toes, keeping him on edge, never letting him truly relax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Giving him just enough free rein to hang himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The closer Billy gets to Cherry Lane, the more he starts to shake and Billy knows he's getting desperate the moment he starts trying to make deals with the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I get to the next light before it turns red, then Neil won't still be up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he's being pathetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If three houses in a row have got their porch lights on, then he won't be drunk.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's not done this for years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If the next car coming the other way is blue, he won't hit too hard.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hadn’t worked then either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I don't step on any cracks, she'll come back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It never worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can tell by the kitchen light that his rituals have failed him again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're late," </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil's still up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a collection of cigarette butts stubbed out onto one of Susan's ugly floral plates, a scattering of beer cans on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been waiting a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy kept him waiting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You dressed up nice for this one," Neil gestures at Billy’s outfit, his cigarette getting perilously close to Billy’s face, "Must be someone special."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy nods. To anyone listening, it might sound like a normal conversation, a father showing interest in his son’s life, but coming from Neil's mouth, it reeks of a trap and Billy knows he's been caught. There's nothing to do now but lie still, bare his neck and hope that Neil's tired enough not to drag things out.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You saw them home safely?" Neil asks, "Right to the door?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Gotta be respectful, sir," Billy tries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothing respectful about being out this late," Neil taps cigarette on the plate, the ash falling over a yellow petal, "Only faggots and whores out at this time of night." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rises suddenly, bringing his face close enough that Billy can smell the stale alcohol on his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So which one was it?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil doesn't wait for the answer, grabbing Billy by shoulders and shoving him roughly against the kitchen counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The handle of a drawer cuts into Billy's back, and he can't stop the gasp escaping his lips. Neil grinds his fingers down on Billy's collar bone, shaking roughly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't wake them up," Neil growls against his ear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Billy manages to stay on his feet for the first rounds of hits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tears come to his eyes when Neil slaps him so hard that his ear starts to ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fall when Neil's ring cuts into his eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he at least manages to stay quiet until Neil grinds out the cigarette on his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drops to his knees for the rest of it.</span>
</p>
<p>Neil's not too tired to drag it out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes Billy ten minutes to get himself off the floor and up to standing. As much as he’d like to crawl straight to bed, he knows he needs to clean up before he goes anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil doesn’t like waking up to a mess in the house. Billy made that mistake once before and then never ever again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines his hands around his father’s neck as he crushes the beer cans down into the bin, pushing them down alongside the cigarette butts. There's a mark left on the flowery plate that doesn’t budge, no matter how hard he scrubs, so he ends up just shoving it back in the cupboard, hidden right at the bottom of a stack of other crockery, and Billy can feel tears pricking his eyes at the sheer unfairness of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy risks a glance in his mirror as he creeps into bed, dabbing at the little cut by his eye and skimming his fingers over the bruises already appearing on his skin, he presses as hard as he can stand, feeling the throb of pain in his cheekbones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not pretty but it’s far from the worst he's had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's still walking, there's nothing broken, nothing he can't shake off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got off easy, really. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> late.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy would take it a hundred times over if it means he's not grounded. If it means he can still see Steve tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely sleeps, snatching maybe a few hours before he’s out of the house and dashing to Steve’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil didn’t take his keys and for Billy, that’s as good as permission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets to Steve’s as early as he can, letting himself in with the spare that Steve had pressed into his palm a few months ago. He feels the lightness return as soon as he steps over the threshold and locks the door behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes his way into Steve’s room, stopping at the doorway to take in the sight in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve, a dream on plaid sheets, splayed out on his front, ass covered in a pair of soft looking gym shorts that have ridden up to reveal milky thighs and constellations of moles that Billy aches to trace a path through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy pads quietly over the carpet and slips under the covers, smiling at the way Steve turns to him immediately, seeking out his warmth like a cat following a ray of sunlight and pulling him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M’r’n’” Steve mumbles blearily, and Billy huffs out a laugh</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not using vowels today, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T’rly for that,” but Steve’s eyes are flicking open, and Billy can tell the moment they take in the mess that is Billy’s face, the way he glances around the room, alertness flooding his face before melting into concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bill?" Steve's voice is achingly gentle, his fingers hesitant as they reach out, and Billy almost breaks there and then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It's nothing," </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Billy-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey,” Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, “It’s fine, I don’t wanna…not now," not in Steve's bedroom, not this morning when Billy’s finally full of light again and there's still so much hope for the day ahead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Steve doesn’t push. And Billy could love him for that alone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anyway,” Billy says after a moment, “what’s all this? You been stealing from me, Harrington?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugs gently at the top that Steve's wearing, a baggy, slightly holey Ratt shirt that Billy had thought he'd left to fester in his gym bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blushes, pushing his face back down into Billy’s shoulder,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Smells like you," he mumbles again, Billy feeling the words vibrating against his arm more than he hears them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>"It’s gotta be so sweaty, bet it fucking reeks of me," Billy sniffs it- breathing in the way that Steve’s honey shampoo and Polo cologne has mixed in with the tang of Billy's sweat and a rather large hit of cigarette smoke. And it should be disgusting, but the mingled scents squeeze at his heart, and he covers his sudden rush of emotion with an over dramatic nose pinch and a gag, “Yep, revolting,” he lies, pressing kisses all the way along the fabric and up to Steve’s neck, “You're kinda gross, y'know that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shrugs as much as he can with Billy so close, “I dunno, it helps me sleep. It’s like you’re with me,” there’s a glimmer of mischief in his expression when he looks into Billy’s eyes, a smirk on his lips. “Guess I just missed my stinky boyfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s one word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it’s everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything Billy has always wanted and never believed he could have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a promise and it’s hope and it’s a way of catching the light that’s filling him up and giving it definition, making it into something he can latch on to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s grinning like an idiot, but it’s OK, because Steve’s grinning back at him just as much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyfriend?” Billy manages after a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyfriend.” Steve nods, firmly, nuzzling at Billy’s nose.<br/><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Billy’s not had that much experience with birthdays, doesn’t really know the etiquette, but he’s pretty sure it’s not usual for the birthday boy to be the one giving out the best present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Billy’s going to take it with both hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One day you won’t have to settle for my stinky shirt, you'll have all of me sweating over you all night." he whispers to Steve, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Steve murmurs sleepily, his eyes fluttering with the effort of keeping them open,  "Promise?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy traces a finger along the leather band on Steve's wrist and presses a kiss to his temple as he lets his own eyes drift shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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